Benjamin H. Alexander: a golden success

By ROBERT J. McCLORY

Have you stopped believing in success stories? Well, here is one you can't ignore. Media hype? No. This one is made of pure hard work, determination and single-mindedness. It's the story of the president of Chicago State University, a school once known as "the University of Mars"

THE CAB was heading for the airport in Atlanta, Ga., when it was pulled over to the side of the road by the flashing lights of a patroling police car. A swarthy, uniformed officer emerged from the vehicle and informed the cab driver that he was speeding.

"You see," said the cabbie, pointing to the passenger in the rear, "this gentleman has to catch a plane and —"

"Gentleman?" said the policeman, peering into the back seat. "Gentleman? He looks like a black man to me!"

"No, indeed," said the passenger, "I'm not black; I'm golden!"

The officer was not pleased. "What do you mean, golden?" he exploded. "You are black! I can see that. Just who are you anyway?"

"I am Dr. Benjamin H. Alexander," replied the man. "I am president of Chicago State University. And I am golden."

He handed an identification card to the policeman, who fumbled with it for a few moments and then returned it. "Okay, okay," he said, "if you say so. But tell your driver to go more slowly — please."

Alexander likes to narrate that incident whenever he gets the chance, since it supports several of his pet theories: First, the word "black" has acquired such a negative connotation that it cannot be rehabilitated. Second, you don't get very far in this world running away from a challenge. And third, you can usually call the shots if you have an education, some authority and know what you're talking about. Of course, it helps if you happen to be a university president too.

Dr. Benjamin H. Alexander doesn't always insist that he's golden (although he thinks it's a far more accurate term than black). He sees himself rather an an American of African heritage with a penchant for stimulating thought and action. That was why he came in 1974 to Chicago State University (CSU), a school knee deep in administrative and academic problems. And that is why he is moving on in mid-August to head the University of the District of Columbia, an institution beset with even more serious woes, according to reports.

During his eight years at the CSU helm, Alexander, now 60, has had a profound effect on a school just about everyone else had given up on. And he has established in the process that a predominantly minority university need not be the neglected stepsister of state education. CSU is still not regarded as the Harvard of the Midwest, but it largely shed its image as a diploma mill, turning out a stream of hapless graduates unable to pass national state standardized tests.

Alexander himself has become something of a national figure in education. He is an appointed member of the Association of American Colleges, serving on a committee attempting to upgrade the baccalaureate degree. He is also a member of the Educational Excellence Network, a prestigious think tank, which includes leading educators from Yale, Stanford, Columbia, Harvard and other top schools. During the past four years, Alexander has averaged five speeches a month before university groups and associations all over the country, and his CSU achievements have been lauded in national publications like Change, Educational Record and People.

Indeed, the man would probably be even more widely known and imitated if his views on some subjects were not so unorthodox. In many respects, Ben Alexander goes against the convertional wisdom in education. He startles, confuses and sometime angers people — a unique combination of Martin Luther King, Booker T. Washington and Norman Vincent Peale, with a touch of Alexander Haig. Nevertheless, he gets things done.

First, a bit of background. Chicago State University's roots go back to 1867, when the Chicago Normal School was founded as the city's major teacher training institution. Since then it has had eight different names and been at various times under the control of the Cook County Board, the Chicago Board of Education, and, since 1965, the Illinois Board of Governors. In 1972, the school ceased its exclusive role as a teachers college and became a liberal arts university. It was moved from its deteriorating inner-city site to the present $65 million, sprawling campus on the site of an old southside railroad terminal.

By 1974, CSU's health as an educational institution was also regarded as terminal. More than 66 percent of the teacher education graduates (who represented two thirds of the 6,600 student enrollment)

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were flunking the National Teacher Education (NTE) exam - an extremely serious situation since a passing NTE grade was required for certification in the Chicago public school system. In addition, the university was on probation with the National Council for the Accreditation of Teacher Education (NCATE) because its programs and admission standards were judged too disorganized. The outgoing president sadly conceded that CSU would lose some of its accreditation following NCATE's next official visit.

Efforts to develop remedial programs for students were unsuccessful because the heads of several key departments refused to allow their teachers to participate. Staff morale was low due to a chronic war with the administration. Black teachers were threatening to sue the university for discrimination, since minorities represented less than 15 percent of the school's faculty. And CSU's public image had been further tarnished by the recent conviction of three of its administrators in a $240,000 fraud scheme.

Morale was equally low among students. A meaningless R grade, with no effect on grade point average, had been instituted in place of failing marks. Protests were on the increase over such matters as the introduction of a nursing program which lacked a faculty to teach the courses. Two-thirds of CSU's enrollment was black, and most observers were convinced that this racial imbalance had reached the point of no return, with the remaining nonblacks soon to quietly move on.

Accurately reflecting the internal difficulties, the landscaping and paving at CSU had not been completed due to administrative foul-ups. The boxlike, modernistic buildings sitting in the midst of mud and debris had an unearthly appearance. Someone had scrawled on the side of the administration building, "Welcome to the University of Mars."

Alexander took the job for the challenge. Born on "the other side of the tracks" in a small Georgia town, he had pulled himself up mostly by his own bootstraps. Pride was clearly a family inheritance. When his great grandfather had been liberated from slavery, one of his first acts was to cast off the uninspiring surname of his former owner — Rumpf — and to

By ROBERT J. McCLORY Alexander says. . . DURING his eight years as president of Chicago State University, Dr. Benjamin H. Alexander provoked thought, discussion and some outrage with his candid views. Here are some samples. On running a university: I am the president of every tree, every brick, every building and every weed at this institution. I have the responsibility and that means I have to be a dictator when necessary. On all-black schools: I'm not a racist, but I have to face reality. When a school or any other entity goes all black, its fund sources just seem to dry up. It could be the best in the world but the funds just dry up. On desegregating public schools: The hell with desegregation or integration. I wouldn't even use the words. They're red letter terms. If we truly believe in ourselves and ask for equal opportunity, then "we" in time will cease to be an issue. On black is beautiful: The word black cannot be redeemed and should be scrapped. It brought us together in our quest for equal rights in the 1960s, but it's having the effect of keeping up apart from our fellow Americans in the '80s. I am not black but an American of African heritage. On slavery: Let us not be too unhappy that our ancestors were brought to America where they were able to make this country into the great entity it is. Of course, they should not have been brought as slaves, in chains, packed into slave ships. . .but they were — that is history. I wish I could roll back time and reset the scenes of history so that all of us sat in the presence of our foreparents who were slaves. They would be proud of their American children and their children's children. On living with his critics: It's hard to hit a man who won't strike back. I do not recriminate. Somebody asked me what I was going to do about a professor who criticized me in his class for the racial views I expressed in an article. I said, I won't do anything; a university is supposed to stimulate diverse ideas. On minority entrance exams and admissions quotas: I'm against them. That's just going back to the plantation. If you want to destroy someone, make it easy for him. Only the strong will survive! On teacher salaries: We have it all backwards. I advocate making teachers in kindergarten through fourth grade the highest paid in all of education. That's where you need the best people, because the love of learning is either taught or lost in those formative years. On too much schooling: Everyone should have the right to move toward an education, but we should not force people along. There's nothing wrong with the trades. On Gov. James R. Thompson's education budget: I'm convinced he's doing all he can with limited funds. Face it, the country is a mess and all governors are under severe constraints. It is tragic to see our precious resources thrown into a suicidal arms race at the expense of educational opportunity. On the Illinois Board of Higher Education: Their quality of leadership is excellent. They have been overly fair to Chicago State University. On superteacher Marva Collins: She's tough and she's succeeding, but I certainly don't go along with her advocacy of educational vouchers. They would ruin public eduction because only the rich would get richer, and the poor would get poorer.

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The campus of Chicago State University

replace it with Alexander, as in Alexander the Great.

Ben Alexander got his education at the University of Cincinnati, Bradley University in Peoria and Georgetown University in Washington, D.C., where he received a doctorate in chemistry. After working as a research chemist, he took a position in Washington, administering health grants for the National Institutes of Health.

Although he marched in civil rights demonstrations and was an outspoken advocate of equal opportunity, Alexander did not buy the full black agenda. The emphasis on black uniqueness, he believed, was counterproductive, as were special compensatory programs in education and industry. He wanted no special breaks for his people, just the same opportunities the white majority had always enjoyed. When more militant colleagues labeled him an Uncle Tom, he took it as a compliment. "Uncle Tom is the most misunderstood and maligned black in fiction," he explained. "He is the very symbol of quiet, passive resistance, not of cowardly surrender."

On his arrival at CSU, Alexander stepped to the podium, looked out over his half-angry, half-bored audience of staff and students, and let them have it. "Professors have taught lies and deception for so long," he said, "that they have now become comfortable doing so, and this is why most universities today are so far from academic excellence. My thesis is starkly simple. Universities must begin to teach the truth even it it runs counter to the beliefs of taxpayers, trustees, the alumni, politicians, the community and other sources of our support. ..."

In the following six months, the new president — the first black ever to head a four-year university in Illinois — showed the CSU community what he had in mind. He expelled immediately 130 students who, according to their records, were just hanging around, and he placed another 1,000 on

He wanted no special breaks for his people, just the same opportunities the white majority had always enjoyed

academic probation. He ordered the faculty to stop tolerating low standards and he banished forever the R grade from the university. "False compassion is criminal," he declared. "It just dooms people to the junk heap of no success. I will not allow it here."

He launched a sweeping reorganization of the faculty and administration. Duties were altered, positions eliminated or combined, and a new, streamlined structure began to emerge. Needless to say, the shakeup was resented by many holdovers, some of whom soon departed. They were replaced by people more suited to the Alexander style. He formed a unique All-University Committee on Teacher Training and announced, "We are going to get the accreditation mess straightened out. If we don't, then I'm a failure and so are you."

At the same time, Alexander softened his image as a take-charge dictator with large doses of good cheer and positive thinking. Publicly and privately, he greeted each sign of progress on campus with tributes, prediction oil grandeur and corny mottos. "This is a beautiful school with beautiful students and a beautiful future." He said it so many times that people began to believe it, including decisionmakers with the Board of Governors and officials at the Illinois Board of Higher Education.

In a determined effort to maintain CSU's multiracial character, Alexander began recruiting white students from Chicago and suburbs. "The United States isn't a nation of one color," he thundered, "and neither should this school be." Additional faculty and new courses were introduced in nonteaching areas such as business administration, political science and industrial technology. Pre-professional programs were set up in medicine, dentistry, optometry and pharmacy. A college of allied health sciences was started. From the beginning, Alexander insisted on teaching a physical science course himself (" to stay in touch with the students") and he continued the practice for all eight years. Although the course invariably lost half the students in the first three weeks because of the heavy demands Alexander made, it remained popular because a passing grade was regarded as a genuine CSU status symbol.

Today the dust has settled and the activity is not as furious as in the early days. It doesn't have to be because CSU has earned a measure of respect even among its critics. It is no longer regarded as the University of Mars. Among the gains:

• Despite rising tuition and cutbacks in student aid, CSU enrollment is at its highest ever: 7,500. The white exodus bottomed out five years ago, and whites now constitute 23 percent of the total.
• To its surprise, the NCATE team discovered that all serious academic shortcomings had been corrected. The school was awarded a maximum 10-year accreditation.

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• The once shaky school of nursing received the highest state accreditation possible, and the new college of allied health sciences was recently ranked No. 1 in the state.
• Although a remediation program as such does not exist, a high-priority organization of support services is achieving the same ends.
• The dismal pass-fail figures for the NTE test have been reversed. Since 1977, two-thirds of the teacher education graduates have been passing, and last year 75 percent made it.
• Under Alexander's whip hand, the contractors and landscapers finished their work, and CSU's facilities and staff resources are regularly made available to the communities surrounding it.
• Shifts in faculty and administration have altered CSU's complexion. Some 37 percent of the teaching staff is now black and so is the vast majority of the administration.

Perhaps the most remarkable, albeit immeasurable change is in morale. When Alexander introduced his presidential seal in 1974 (two hands, one black and one white, clasped in friendship), it provoked embarrassed laughter. Few laugh today. The integrated student body has become a matter of pride on campus, especially since it runs counter to the experience of most urban universities. CSU professors for the first time are publishing in scholarly journals and are sought for national panels in their specialty areas. The new programs introduced by Alexander are not only gaining respect but luring students from beyond CSU's immediate southside Chicago area. This year, a CSU graduate finished first in the nation in the General Management Achievement test.

There is a much improved level of discussion, dialogue and shared decisionmaking at the university, although Alexander has kept a finger on the panic button — just in case. His executive council, for example, is composed of five administrators, each with one vote, and Alexander himself, with six votes!

Not everyone gives the president high marks for reform and style. The university has been hit with several lawsuits, some from former teachers or administrators who thought they were dealt with unjustly and others from students who resented the heavy academic demands. Alexander is used to hate mail and even death threats, but he dismisses them because they are equally divided between writers who characterize him as a subservient dupe of white racism and those who see him as a pushy, loud black militant.

CSU's budget — $22 million this year — will be down for fiscal year 1983, but Alexander does not expect a severe drop. "I can't complain about the legislature, the governor or our governing boards," he says. "They have responded to my every request. They have all been beautiful. Our budget problems come entirely from Washington."

Minority students, he concedes, will be hard hit in the coming dark ages, but he characteristically refuses to offer pity. "They're just going to have to plan better," he says, "and work harder and go without frills. But they can't quit because education is the key to survival."

Alexander and his wife, who was partially paralyzed in an automobile accident four years ago, have security at CSU — with his $62,000 a year salary and valuable perquisites including an elegant president's residence owned by the university. Their two children, one of whom is a medical doctor, are raised and on their own.

Why then doesn't Ben Alexander relax for a change and enjoy his latter years in relative peace? "It would be too easy," he says. "I want a challenge, I also think it's better to move on while you're ahead."

His new school, the University of the District of Columbia, has twice the enrollment of CSU, a student body that is 90 percent black and a host of headaches such as he never saw at CSU. "If I can succeed there, it will be a crowning achievement," he says. "And I believe I can. You know, I was trained as a scientist to believe anything is possible."

Robert J. McClory is author of The Man Who Beat Clout City, contributor to Chicago magazine, Chicago Reader, The National Catholic Reporter and former city editor of the Chicago Daily Defender.

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